


133 Jumps

by CaptainLyssa



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternative realities, Culmets - Freeform, Drama, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLyssa/pseuds/CaptainLyssa
Summary: S1E9-Culber: Well, you wanted evidence of an issue with your navigator? You've gotten more than you've asked for. Lieutenant Stamets' scans show a restructuring of the tracts within the white matter of his medial temporal lobe.The consequences are about to begin, for more than just Lt. Stamets. Each of his one hundred and thirty-three jumps leaves Paul with insights into other realities and possibly the people within his own. As one alternative universe replaces another, what is he supposed to learn from the experience. What is the point of all this sightseeing within the multiverse?WARNING: some of the topics in several chapters might offend. No graphic scenes are depicted but off camera events are mentioned in the context of the story. Further warnings at the start of each chapter as we explore alternative realities.
Relationships: Alternative Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets, Gabriel Lorca | Mirror Gabriel Lorca & Paul Stamets, Hugh Culber & Paul Stamets, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets, Paul Stamets & Sylvia Tilly
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36





	1. Jump 1

Dr. Hugh Culber entered engineering, his stride determined, forceful and incensed. Medical case placed precisely on the end of a workstation, he called attention to his presence by changing the data on the screen. Opening his kit and taking out an emergency treatment sleeve, he kept his tone dispassionate as his partner of almost twenty years watched on cautiously. The words grated every member of the spore drive team as the monotone reached their ears, understanding this to be a long-standing argument between the two men.

“I know better than to ask you not to do this,” the doctor remained professional, holding out the cuff to place it on Paul’s wrist. “But, I will ask you to allow me to take precautions.”

Stamets attempted and failed to catch his partner’s eye. Hugh, always worrying, always doctoring, always caring. Paul recalled the scene a week previously, standing in their bathroom, both in regulation pyjamas. He’d injected the tardigrade DNA, and the love of his life declared, “you may not care about you, but I do!” By offering the medical device, Dr. Culber continued to extrude that sentiment. Hugh would always care, always look out for the idealistic and inept scientist.

“I'm so glad he finally told you about the side effects,” Cadet Tilly exclaimed, only to realise her mistake a moment later. Paul’s expression spoke a million words, none of them good.

After a few more, very terse, exchanges, Lt. Paul Stamets held out his hand. While Culber might be incensed, his touch couldn’t have been gentler, his skills delivered with compassion. Entering the spore chamber, Stamets took his position, refusing to consider the ramifications of 133 jumps on a mind already demonstrating injury, and side effects.

Glancing around as the countdown proceeded, Paul’s blue eyes locked onto Hugh’s brown. “I love you,” he whispered, not loud enough for anyone to hear. Yet, the sentiment flowed between partners as Culber read the words from Stamets lips. Then the pain hit.

Paul found himself running. Pavement beneath his feet, the weight of a heavy pack on his back and pushing something resembling a cart. Looking around wildly, he knew this place. The Ecology Trail, one of his favourite places to get fit enough to pass the Starfleet’s annual physical exam. Glancing down, he noticed a plain royal blue t-shirt and running shorts. His body a little more buffed than he recalled. That slight pudge at his middle, earned through countless hours of study and research had disappeared. Then again, pulling the extra ten kilos on his back and pushing, well, the buggy uphill would improve anyone’s fitness level.

A cry stopped Stamets dead. Looking down at his hand, he understood the meaning of the platinum band encircling his finger. Turning his head, he knew, with absolute certainty, what he’d find. Something he and Hugh had discussed early in their relationship. Marriage and children weren’t on Dr. Culber’s radar, ever. It took six years and countless pleas to get Hugh to agree to a commitment ceremony. Hugh never understood the necessity of formalising their love. Just being with Paul had been enough, even if Stamets’ wanted more. He’d had to settle for less, if he wanted to keep his Dear Doctor.

“Daddy,” a curly haired child of two or three peeked out from the stroller, “no stop.”

“Sorry,” Paul found himself apologising, “but your brother needs a break.”

And that’s when Dr. Stamets found a whole different history in his head. Ariana, born two years and ten months ago, had been followed by her brother, Juan. Initially, Paul worked in San Francisco so he could be near his Starfleet husband. Leaving behind a career in teaching, Dr. Stamets had become the stay at home parent. Hugh’s aspirations to become to become the youngest and only medical doctor to reach the rank of Admiral occurred between the birth of their children.

“Snack?” Ariana asked hopefully.

Pulling the pack off his back, Paul came face to face with his son. Blue eyes matching his own looked up, while his mouth continued to make unhappy noises. Without thinking, Stamets movements separated the baby from his carrier. A hand on his bottom indicating the issue.

“Can I change Juan’s bottom first, Ari?” Paul pleaded, pulling the stroller over to the side of the path as naturally as if he’d achieved this countless times before. And in this reality, he had.

“Out!” she cried gleefully, unbuckling herself easily and clambering out of the pram.

“When,” Stamets demanded, laying Juan in the empty space, “did you learn to do that?”

Grinning, the dark curls blew in the slight breeze. Eyes the colour of chocolate, Paul couldn’t help see the similarities between his daughter and Hugh. Somehow, Captain Culber managed to enlist the aid of a Denobulan colleague, who arranged for their DNA to be combined, resulting in two embryos’. Their planet also allowed for foetal growth in specialised chambers, leading to the reason Admiral Culber and his family remained on Denobula until their offspring arrived.

Cooing, now his bottom felt refreshed, Paul couldn’t help admire the child in his arms, and feeling lighter at his innocent sounds. “Daddy never though he’d have this,” Stamets whispered, kissing the slightly tanned cheeks. Juan’s thick hair favoured his colouring as a child, red, but deeper. Hugh’s genetics certainly trounced Paul’s as far as their kids’ phenotypes were concerned, and he loved the fact they were a combination of both parents.

“Hungry,” Ariana pulled on daddy’s shorts, recalling Stamets attention to his current reality.

“Okay, princess, let’s get you back in the stroller,” Paul couldn’t help smiling.

This experience seemed too good to be true, even if Paul found himself cleaning up a dirty nappy for recycling when he got home. Rummaging around while Ari climbed back into her seat, he came up with a container of fruit. Chubby fingers grabbed at the banana and mango, squishing them into a tiny mouth before Paul could stop Juan. Shaking his head, he quickly returned the infant to his carrier, on his chest, facing outward this time, while his daughter wolfed down her snack. Ensuring Ariana’s harness had been secured, they started on the downhill slope to their house on Admirals row.

Stamets shouldn’t have been disappointed, arriving to an empty house. _This is how Hugh’s felt_ , Paul suddenly realised, _all the years I’ve spent trying to understand the mycelial network_. It didn’t mean he had to like the fact. Two young children soon took the scientists attention off missing his career-oriented husband. Between sleeps, lunch, playtime, baths, dinner, all of which Paul Stamets intrinsically understood and knew how to do, he really didn’t have time to miss Hugh.

“Honey,” Admiral Culber called from the front door.

“Shh,” Paul hissed. Ari lay with her head on his lap, Juan asleep in his arms. “They tried to stay up for you. It’s the only time they get to see you lately.”

“Sorry,” Hugh shrugged out of his uniform coat, coming to sit beside his husband. A quick kiss on each of three foreheads and an arm over the back of the couch contacting Paul didn’t seem enough. “Meeting ran over.”

“Did they serve dinner, or do you need to replicate something?” He asked. Stamets in this universe might have come to accept his husband’s odd hours, but living on _Discovery_ gave Paul a very different prospective. If this kept up, the family would eventually be in trouble. Yet, did he have any right to interfere in the life of another version of himself?

“We have that thing at the Jamerson’s tonight,” Hugh stated. “Your mother should be here soon. Why don’t I take Ari up and you can settle Juan, then we might have a few minutes alone?”

“I like the sound of that,” Paul couldn’t help smiling. “If, you promise you’ll be home earlier tomorrow. The kids love eating as a family.”

“You know I can’t promise, Paul,” Hugh sighed. Obviously, this argument had been rehashed multiple times. Sighing, the look Stamets from _Discovery_ extruded must have been new. “All right, home by five tomorrow. I’ll have my aid put it in the diary.”

“Every week,” Paul knew his Hugh responded to that kicked puppy look as well had he Dear Doctor seemed too. Waiting for a nod, Stamets closed the distance between them, even with two children sleeping soundly on him, he managed a light but passionate kiss.

Then the pain hit and he found himself back in the reaction cube. Hugh, his Dear Doctor watching on, a concerned expression on his face. Stamets could never ignore that look of utter devotion and love. Suddenly their fight meant very little in the grand scheme of things. After these jumps, after experiencing this alternative universe, Paul would sit Hugh down and tell him about his deepest wishes, wants, needs. Maybe, after the war, the could at least try to be a family.


	2. Jump 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: topics in this chapters might offend. No graphic scenes are depicted but off camera violence against and death of children is mentioned.

Before Paul Stamets could communicate this revelation to Real Hugh, the pain hit again. A surge of energy from his implants directed him to co-ordinates for their second jump. Reading them, Paul navigated _Discovery_ towards her next location. Spreading out like branches on a tree, the network loomed, connecting everything, everyone via fungal hypha touching each and every micrometre of the galaxy, binding it together in ways Stamets didn’t yet understand. The navigator found himself drawn toward one particular path. It stood out from those surrounding it, as if the universe called him to enter.

Cold, so cold. Wind, biting in its intensity, chilling Paul to the core. Bleak, the outlook, both mentally, physically and aesthetically. Ice, snow and slush surrounded Stamets as he huddled against a crumpling cinder block wall. His fingers, black at the tips from frost bite, covered in gloves that had long since ceased to be waterproof or provided any real protection. Layers of clothing, tattered, torn, discoloured, but all he had to shield him from the environment that continued to deteriorate year after merciless year. Everything faded into a soft grey-white, matching the dirty snow on the ground. Colourless, emotionless and dying.

No ring on his finger this time. No Hugh to comfort him. No starship offering warmth, comfort, friendship, food. Just the remnants of the human race, huddled around an old cargo container, fighting for the flickering of an insignificant flame. Watching, waiting with bated breath as they burnt anything they could lay their hands on for the most minuscule amount of life-giving heat. The trees, the information trickled to Stamets mind without trying, had gone long ago. The land, now bare and barren. Scraps that once proved humanities innovative nature, became fodder for the fire as it consumed the last efforts of technological advancement. That red glow, eating anything, everything it could in order to provide a little comfort to those few who remained.

“Hey,” came a shout from Paul’s left.

Huddled against the far end of the wall, all that remained of a building, a man hunched further into his cocoon of clothing. Well outside the spaces only protection, he’d tried to hide his presence, while remaining close to the last remaining humans on the planet. Attempting to conceal the fact, he chewed furiously, before swallowing. Brown eyes turned on the others, fear shone in those dark orbs for a second, before he stood, preparing to defend his ground and concealing something under his feet, half buried in the mounting snow.

“What’s he got,” another voice asked, pointing to the ground. Leaving the life-giving heat, three individuals staggered towards the man. Skeletally thin, only their clothing gave them the appearance of vitality.

Paul, intrigued, started to stagger in that direction. Stopping dead when he identified the body of a child, not yet frozen solid, as the object being guarded. The bile hit the back of his throat, drowning out the parched dryness, the hunger in his belly. Both disappeared in an instant as he retched, nothing coming up. He didn’t need to see how the man sated his hunger, the evidence lay at his feet.

“Food,” yelled a woman. “He’s got food.”

Paul Stamets watched on in horror as humanity reached its lowest level in order to endure. Instinct taking over and the will to live strong, the woman tried to drag her next meal away from the men. The fight, over a dead child, between combatants barely able to stand, would seem ridiculous and futile under any other circumstance.

_This_ , Paul allowed his weak knees to buckle, falling back against the broken wall, _is the result of World War III. The amount of destruction, the radiation and deaths, Zefram Cochrane never born, the warp engine never constructed. We’ve been confined to a dying planet, the Vulcan’s leaving us to our fate, never reaching out into the galaxy. Each generation degrading further, losing a little more of our hope, our morality, our humanity until there’s nothing left. Turing on each other, only a handful of us left, waiting for the others to perish so they might survive another day._

His head falling to his knees, Paul welcomed the pain when it came. Pulling him back to his universe, he wondered what he could learn from this experience. Perhaps the depravity of desperation? The fragility of a broken mind, society, individual? How the war with the Klingons might end. Shivering, not from physical pain, but psychological, Lt. Stamets ensured _Discovery_ made her next location before rising out of the network. Determination demanded Paul get the cloaking data and end this war.

“I’m not following another thread,” he whispered in the moments before the spore cube crystallised around him.

Hugh stood waiting, watching, worrying, doctoring, instantaneously bringing Paul back to his reality. A reality he intrinsically understood. He also knew those brown eyes, standing over the child belonged to a member of _Discovery’s_ crew. It might be the only similarity between Dr Culber and the Captain, but Lt. Stamets could never mistake compassion for coldness, honesty for deception, caring for callousness, or Hugh Culber, the love of his life, for Gabriel Lorca.

_Lorca is evil_ , Paul’s mind reiterated, _that’s what I’m supposed to learn_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just saw S3:E12. OMG. Talk about being left hanging, but I did see the end coming. I tried to write a fic about that but just didn’t get it finished in time. Maybe between seasons I’ll find the time.


	3. Jump 3

Looking up before she initiated the ejection sequence between jumps, Cadet Silvia Tilly noted a worried expression on both Lt. Stamets and Dr Culber’s faces. Shivering, she suspected how much they cared for each other, even if they refused to demonstrate their relationship openly. Tilly recalled her earliest interactions with the couple. Every time she saw them over the last nine months, they seemed to argue, hissing and spitting at each other like a pair of cats. Then, that scene a few weeks ago, when Michael tried to talk to Lt. Stamets about the Tardigrades condition. She truly believed scientist rarely listened to anything Dr Culber said after that exchange. Until turning up at their quarters with the results from an experiment her boss demanded the moment she completed her task. Sure, most officers didn’t have to share, but she knew a few who did, like Kayla Detimer and Joann Owosekun. However, they’d never answered the door, half naked with that well and truly sated look about them. It took the not so innocent cadet several seconds to understand why Dr. Culber chose to share with the pernickety Astromycologist.

“Chamber filling,” Tilly called out, replacing the spent spore canister in the slot with another, glowing blue with active mycelia. “Initiating jump 3.”

“Just the co-ordinates,” Stamets whispered while closing his eyes and fighting the network. After his last effort, he didn’t want to follow another thread to a possible alternative universe. He just wanted to navigate _Discovery_ to the next point, get the reading and do it all over again, one hundred and thirty times.

_I’ve already proved the Captain’s suspicions_ , Paul’s mind reiterated _. There’s a multiverse out there. Every possible combination, permutation and possibility. I liked my first foray into what could have been, not so much my second. I’m not going to explore any more. Just get the job done and get back to your partner of twenty years. Get back to Hugh._

The pain hit and Stamets felt his heart rate increase. He saw the network before him. His best intentions failed as he felt impelled to follow the nearest thread. Somewhere in his brain, the scientist wanted to comprehend the complexity, understand the patterns, to explore the possibilities and extrapolate all the potentialities. So far there had been three jumps, but three different universes would never be enough to establish a theory, let alone test it. Dr. Stamets gave up trying, allowing his mind to travel down the path of least resistance.

“Paul,” the shout came over the sound of Hugh’s favourite aria.

Feeling himself rolling his eyes, Stamets sighed, banged his head against his desk and told the computer to pause his current research. Standing, the Astromycologist stretched his back, knowing he wouldn’t return to his work anytime soon. As it had in the other universes, this Paul Stamets history appeared instantly, giving Real Paul some context with which to work.

“Hugh Culber,” he tried not to lose his temper as he stalked into the living room. Said temper had been on a very short thread over the last year. “How many times do I have to tell you, stay in your chair. You are not up to walking yet, especially without help.”

“You’re not the only one with a medical degree,” Hugh announced, giving Paul a frustrated glare from his position on the floor. He’d tried to sit, but his abdominal muscles didn’t want to co-operate. Not that any of his muscles did as he ordered for the last two years.

“A degree I got so I could help you,” Paul reminded in a terse tone. “So, let me do my job and help you!”

“Sorry I took you away from you beloved mushrooms,” Culber retaliated, his words sounding hurt and incensed in equal measure. “Maybe you should return to Deneva with Straal, instead of carrying around my dead weight.”

“And who would pick you up the next time you push your body beyond its ability to cope?” Paul demanded.

Deflating suddenly, he placed a hand over his eyes and the other on his hip. Rehashing this argument got them nowhere. Rubbing the tired lids, Stamets knew their current arrangement wasn’t working. That it never would, so long as Hugh continued to push himself beyond his current capabilities. Breathing in, holding it for five seconds issued a warning to his spouse. As much as Culber wanted to argue, he knew Paul needed a moment to reset his mood and work though both their frustrations. A second breath, then a third and the hand finally fell. Blue iris’s focusing on brown, the men apologised silently. Bending over, Paul dragged Hugh into a sitting position against the nearest wall. Sliding down, he pulled his husband so they touched from shoulder to ankle, allowing his core muscles some much needed support.

“We can’t go on like this, Hugh,” Paul managed, his throat threatening to close over with barely held back emotion. “You need more care than I can give you alone.”

“Half the planet needs more care than me,” Culber stated, not quite ready to give in.

“I don’t care about half the planet,” Paul pulled Hugh’s head onto his shoulder, attempting to remain calm while expressing his deepest fear, losing his beloved to this epidemic. “I care about you. You’re a Starfleet officer, injured in the line of duty. NO, don’t interrupt me stating that it was your job, that someone had to do it, that doctors were needed on the front lines. If you want to get back out there, help others to overcome this plague, then we need to concentrate on you first. That means going back to the hospital for intensive treatment.”

“We did that,” Culber almost cried in pure frustration, “for almost a year. It got me nowhere.”

“It got you off respiratory support,” Paul reminded, allowing his thumb to stroke the side of his lover’s neck. “It got you into a chair and out of a biobed. It brought you back to me, when I thought I’d lost you.”

“It stopped you working, studying, trying to find a cure,” Hugh recalled with a sigh, “just to be with me.”

Snorting, Paul shook his head. “I can work from your hospital room as easily as our house. I slept there for the first several months of your recovery, after they brought you out of your coma. Besides, Straal’s running the experiments on Deneva, even if I have to fight him all the way.”

“You’ve found something,” Culber’s tone took on a timber filled half with hope and half with dread.

“I’m on to something, not a cure, but a better understanding,” Paul agreed, standing and scooping his husband into his arms. With the weight Hugh lost in the initial days of his illness, and the bulk Stamets acquired caring for him, it made the transfer back to his chair effortless. “This plague started when Straal and I opened the mycelial network. What if…”

“No, Paul,” Hugh reached up, placing a finger over his lips. “You did not cause this. We know it’s fungal, we know it’s a species never before encountered by any civilisation. We know it’s indiscriminate, infects every known race, causes paralysis and is almost impossible to kill. We have developed medications to fight the initial infection, to stop further demyelination and nerve damage in over one hundred species. There are doctors and scientists working on this all over the Federation, in the Klingon Empire, within the Romulan Star Empire. It effectively stopped the Cardassian Union invading Bajor.”

“Your point being,” Paul smiled, “nothing else in this galaxy could have brought the alpha and beta quadrants into alignment.”

“Klingons are working with Vulcans on Vulcan, Romulans might still be suspicious, but their people are dying, so they’re labouring alongside the Cardassian’s. Humans, well,” Hugh felt a bubble of laughter lifting his mood, “we go wherever we can, help anyone who needs it, even if our species isn’t the best placed in terms of treatment and immunity. The fact is, everyone’s working on a cure, sharing information, getting along.”

Watching his husband’s eyes shine, Paul felt a certain satisfaction. All the hours of therapy usually left Hugh drained. Even with professionals attending their house, it didn’t leave Stamets much time to work on his theories. Hugh hated anyone attending to his personal needs, so those duties fell to Paul. It meant getting up several times a night, even though the biobed in the master bedroom ensured his husband’s wellbeing.

“Hugh, I can’t do this anymore,” Stamets didn’t want coincide defeat. Truthfully, they were both tired. It had been inevitable, the situation unworkable, just as the psychologist told them when planning to leave the hospital. That they’d managed for a year went beyond any one’s expectations. “I can’t give you the attention you need to get better and look after myself. You need around the clock care. I love you, but I’m afraid you’re not going to any better if we continue to delude ourselves. I’m not going to lose you to this, not when we’ve come so far. I want you back in my bed, beside me every night for the rest of our lives. I know we can beat this, but we might have to give up somethings to make that happen.”

“Paul,” Hugh pleaded.

“I’m not giving up on you, Dear Doctor, not now, not ever,” Paul beseeched. “This is the best way to get you well, to give me time to explore this new theory. What if I’m right, Hugh, what if opening the network caused this?”

_No, no, no_ , Real Paul screamed, attempting to influence this Stamets. _That’s not how the network operates. This is something else, something you haven’t considered. You’re not contemplating so many aspects of my work, the possibilities. You couldn’t. You gave up studying Astromycology, leaving it to Straal. You chose to complete a medical degree so you could be with Hugh, work with him on the front lines. Only you never got that chance. Before you managed to graduate, you husband caught the disease he tried so hard to fight. What am I supposed to see, to experience in this reality? Why has the network brought me here? What am I missing?_

“Paul,” Hugh touched his cheek, “where did you go? I thought I lost you for a second.”

“You did,” Stamets said, as the wonder of his counterpart fell into place.

“Going back to the hospital means that much to you?” Hugh asked, a sorrowful note in his tone.

“It’s the only way I’m going to get you back,” Paul stated.

Culber couldn’t stop the tear running down his cheek, “I guess you’d better make the arrangements.”

“Hugh,” Paul crouched down, placing a palm on his spouses’ cheek, “I love you. I promise I’m going to find where this came from and how to cure you.”

“I’m going to keep you to that,” a hand snaked around Stamets neck, pulling him in for a soft, tentative kiss.

“ _Prototaxites stellaviatori_ ,” Real Paul pulled away, understanding exactly where the error occurred.

“What?” Hugh asked.

“I have to call Straal,” Stamets stood, pacing. “It’s so simple. Hugh, if a patient came to see you with colitis…”

“Paul, that’s taught in medical history class. We discovered,” pausing, Dr Culber’s eye widened with disbelief as he finally understood the gleeful expression on his husband’s face. “You’re trying to tell me the universe gut flora is damaged. Like ulcerative colitis, when non-native organisms overwhelm the natural defences, it causes the immune system to overact.”

“It needs resetting,” Paul agreed, “with _prototaxites stellaviatori_ , and I know just were to find it. I have to speak with Straal. We have to stop our experiments, stop entering the network. If I’m right, and I know I am, we’ve caused this epidemic by assuming _prototaxites amanitatori_ were interchangeable. We’ve infected the network with a competing fungus and it’s creating a major immune response.”

Looking down at a very confused Dr Hugh Culber, Dr Paul Stamets understood the differences between this universe and his own. A single mistake in their research lead to an epidemic of previously unknown proportions. Instead of the spore drive, they’d poisoned the network. If he didn’t fix it, the entire fungal system would be infected before long, including his own reality. Leaning in, he kissed this Dear Doctor as the pain started in his forearms, working its way to his torso.

“You’re going to be okay, Dear Doctor,” Paul murmured seconds before he found himself back on Discovery and in his cube.


	4. Jump 4

This time Paul Stamets chose not to fight the network. When the paths before him diverged, he went where the mycelia led. It seemed inevitable. Even if he didn’t wish to travel a particular hypha, his precious _Stella_ needed to show him something, just as it had in the last three universes he’d experienced. That very special mushroom wanted the Astromycologist to learn, appreciate, discover, wanted him to theorise, create a methodology, amass results, come to conclusions, wanted him to understand exactly how the muscles of the universe, the multitude of universes functioned.

“Who am I,” Paul muttered to himself, “to stand in the way of what the universe is expecting of me.”

He’d told Hugh how his entire career centred around trying to grasp the essence of mycelium after that initial jump, after injecting the Tardigrade DNA to save the creature. Paul Stamets

saw the network, a universe of possibilities he never dreamed existed. Describing it as unspeakably beautiful didn’t begin to describe his current comprehension and appreciation of just how little he truly knew. The particulars of this specific universe didn’t immediately present themselves to Paul’s mind, yet everything seemed similar.

He awoke in the cube on _Discovery_ , his augments not connected to the drive. Cadet Tilly stood at her station, working calculations. Dr. Culber nowhere to be seen, but several of Paul’s underlings going about their daily tasks. Opening door and striding to his console, a message waited. Justin Straal on the _Glenn_ demanded Stamets return his communication ASAP. It seemed his counterpart had made a breakthrough and need to talk urgently.

“Justin,” Paul gasped when the holographic image emerged.

“What the hell, Stamets,” Straal opened their conversation. “What’s gotten into you. You’ve never called me by my first name in the twelve years I’ve known you.”

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” Paul answered, allowing his heart to slowly return to normal. The adrenalin surge on seeing his long time and now dead research partners name proved he’d landed in another reality.

“Don’t tell me your lover finally left you and it’s affecting your metal abilities,” Straal teased.

“I hate you,” the words issued from Paul’s mouth without thought. It really meant I care about you, but not as much as I love Hugh. Dr Culber had always been a point of contention between Real Paul and Real Justin. Straal determined Hugh would have gone for him, if only they’d met first, if only he’d been the one going to that seminar on Alpha Centauri.

“I have something,” Straal couldn’t keep the shit eating grin off his face any longer. “Get _Discovery_ to meet us at in the Veda system. We need to talk and it has to be in person. I can’t say more. Above top secret.”

Rolling his eyes, Real Paul wondered how to get his completely war-oriented captain to do his bidding. Nodding, Stamets signed off, a million possibilities running though this mind. Requesting a meeting with Lorca, he found the difference between his reality and this one quickly and easily. Lorca wasn’t Lorca, or at least the Lorca he knew and hated. This Captain Lorca’s tone over the communications network sounded less harsh, agreeing the scientist should come to his ready room as soon as possible to discuss the issue.

Detimer sat at the con, Owo beside her. Rhys, Bryce, Airium at their consoles. Saru in the Captain’s seat. Only Michael and Tyler seemed to be missing. Straal alive and the _Glenn_ intact meant there had to be significant changes within this universe, they just weren’t that obvious. Stamets catalogued any minor differences quickly, wondering what other subtilise he’d uncover. Why he’d been sent to this universe and what he needed to learn.

“Lieutenant,” Lorca offered a chair, the lighting at normal, no fortune cookies on his desk, “what can I do for you?”

“Lt. Straal contacted me,” Paul stated, wondering why the history of this Stamets didn’t fill his mind. “He’s asking us to meet with the _Glenn_ in the Veda system.”

“Any idea why?” Lorca asked, making himself comfortable behind the desk in his ready room.

“There’s a class four moon we talked about terraforming with mycelia in our early work. Straal initially quashed the idea, preferring to use dried mycelia. I’m not sure why he’s suddenly so interested,” Paul’s mind worked on the issue and came up with an inspiration. With a wide grin infusing his features, Stamets offered, “or maybe I do. Let’s just say, this might revolutionise spore travel, Captain.”

Nodding, Lorca seemed far too easily convinced, leaving Paul with a slight frown.

“We are a science vessel, Lieutenant,” the Captain responded to the grimace with a good natured grin. “If you believe this is the best way to continue your research, who am at I stand in the way of brilliance.”

_Who are you_ , Paul thought, forehead furrowing, _and what have you done with Gabriel Lorca. For that matter, why haven’t I received the memories of this Paul Stamets. I spent about ten hours in the first universe, thirty minutes in the second, and an hour in the third. Yet, only seconds passed in my reality. Time, it seems, isn’t a universal constant where the network is concerned, or I’m existing outside of the normal timestream, just as I did when Harry Mud attempted to take Discovery. Interesting but is it relevant?_

Lt. Stamets had never seen the Captain this easy going. Still, Paul followed Lorca onto the bridge while he ordered _Discovery_ to change course. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Stamets looked over to the tactical board. The war map had been replaced with spatial data. Wishing the network would give him some clarity, the scientist excused himself back to his laboratory. He had research to do.

On the way, Paul took out his personal PADD. Examining the last months entries, it seemed they were no further in their research than before Michael Burnham came aboard almost a month previously. No mention of the traitor in his logs, led Stamets to look the woman up. Commander and first officer of the USS _Shenzhou_ , she’d become a war hero by single handedly stopping the Klingon Sarcophagus Ship meaning the war never started. Citation for effectively delivering a Vulcan neck pinch to her captain, incapacitating Georgiou long enough to destroy T’Kuvma’s aspirations. That left the Klingons fighting among themselves and taking on the Federation only in boarder skirmishes.

_Which means_ , Paul theorised, _the Tardigrade is still on the Glenn with Straal and that’s the reason he wants to meet. I have a live crop of spores, he has the means. Wait, I have to warn him not to attempt any more jumps using the creature. Not only would Hugh leave me if I damage it, we know it’s sentient._

Racing to engineering, Stamets pulled up all official communications between himself and Straal over the last year. Nothing. It seemed the _Glenn_ hadn’t been any more successful than _Discovery_ in navigating the network. As distance increased, the number of calculations required to remain on course increased exponentially. Real Paul and his team learnt that lesion weeks ago. Yet, in this universe they’d only managed speirein 12.

“Culber to Stamets,” the call came five hours later.

Paul sat at his work station, thinking, wondering why the memories of this Stamets still eluded him. Sighing, he knew he’d have to take the call from Hugh. Opening the channel, a rather annoyed face filled his screen.

“Are you ever coming home?” the image demanded.

_Well, this is not my Dear Doctor_ , Paul tried not to swallow visibly. The words, you’re not human wanted to escape, but he managed to hold them back. The words, you’re a female would follow closely if he hadn’t bitten his lip. Never, in any universe, would Paul Stamets consider himself anything but homosexual.

“I have a few things I need to finish up,” he managed. Looking down at his wrist, Stamets noticed the tattooed binding knot signifying a life commitment.

The image of a very pale yellow, Sunraysian woman frowned. “We’ve talked about this, Paul. It’s important we eat our evening meal together.”

Nodding rather dumbly, the scientist fielded several sideways glances from his crew. They seemed sympathetic. Turning off his console, he agreed with a simple, “yes, dear.”

“And you though being half human,” an ensign muttered, “would make the difference. Once a Sunraysian, always a Sunraysian.”

Pulling out his PADD again, Paul cursed a lack of clarity about his universe. Huguetta Culber, he learnt, had a French father and Sunraysian mother. Brought up on the matriarchal planet, Stamets fell into her clutches and under her spell. It seemed there species mated on the basis of pheromones, and his were a perfect match for his wife, weather he liked it or not. A fact Paul discovered the moment he entered their shared quarters. The attraction flared and they finished up eating dinner, off each other. It seemed there might just be hidden advantages in marrying a Sunraysian.

_Why am I still here?_ Paul demanded a week later, still no more informed about this universe but learning to exist without making many mistakes.

Oh, he’d learnt all about Sunraysian customs and culture. He didn’t know how this Lt. Stamets remained married to Commander and CMO Culber. As a professional, Huguette seemed to be as well received as his own Dear Doctor. At home, the woman most defiantly wore the pants, turning her pheromones on and off easily. Paul simply had to roll with the punches and get through his time, not that it proved that onerous. Only the daily contact with Straal, making hints about the Tardigrade and receiving astonished looks in return made his day.

Then, finally, they reached the Veda system, meeting up with the _Glenn_. Straal demanded Paul and his Captain transported across. Remolecularising, Stamets found the information he’d been seeking about this reality suddenly within his mind. Sighing, at least he knew how to handle his domestic arrangements a little better and feel less like he’d cheated on his beloved Dear Doctor. If he’d learnt one thing, it would be to appreciate Hugh in a whole new light.

“The tardigrade?” Paul asked. “Do you have it aboard? Can I see it?”

“Just a minute,” Straal seemed perturbed, “tell me how you know about the creature first.”

“There’s not time for that. Trust me, we have to seed this planet and get the tardigrade into the mycelial forest,” Stamets explained. “It’s the key to the network. You should see how his communicates with the spores.”

“I don’t have the creature,” Straal sighed. “It’s attracted to _Stella_. We almost lost all our spores when it attacked the _Glenn_. I thought if we grew enough…”

“You called me here to finally listen to my theory about terraforming,” Paul sounded annoyed. “Just as well I kept that sample of _prototaxites stellaviatori._ ”

“It’s time to let it grow wild,” Justin agreed, waiting for Stamets to say ‘I told you so’.

Another week went by as the project came to completion. Straal and Stamets lived on the moon in order to observe and record the wonder. When half the surface became covered with hyphae, the first tardigrade appeared. Within hours, it called to others. Three days later, a family approached Paul. Just how Stamets understood they represented a family, he couldn’t say.

“We have waited for you to be alone,” the largest stated, its mouth moving but no sound emerging. A gentle touch within his mind and Paul understood how it communicated. “You are not us, and yet commune with the mycelia. We have seen how came about in the other.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul offered, for all the pain he’s caused the tardigrade in his own universe.

“And you are not,” the Tardigrade suggested. “We see all”

“I need to return to my own reality,” Paul sighed.

“Yes. We are not concerned with your other, only what is now. More like you will follow,” the creature stood on its hind legs. Anyone else might have been terrified. Through the mental link, Stamets knew it meant no harm. “When one comes, who is pure of heart and mind, we will allow them become one with the mycelia, and teach them to navigate the network. The DNA will only work in those who will not miss use it.”

“Thank you,” telepathic communication allowed for an authenticity unlike anything Paul had ever known. He understood the comments were aimed at him and those who would be chosen in the future. “I am grateful you allow us to use the system.”

“There is much for you to learn. Much you do not yet understand,” it responded. “Go, now, all will be well in this universe.”

“Will Straal…” Paul hesitated, the sadness entering his mind immediately.

“It will be many of your years, before the spore drive is operational in his reality. It will only be entrusted to those capable of using it for good. Do not be sad, this is as it is meant to be,” the tardigrade almost sighed. “Your counterpart will stay with us. He is not happy, but he will be at home among the spores. You, even in this world, are destine for greater things.”

“I know,” Stamets sighed, feeling the pull of his own reality. The pain hit and realised how much he’d learnt, not only about the network, but himself as well. 


	5. Jump 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: a short one with a major character death.

Paul woke in sickbay. White uniforms, walls and floor surrounded him. He could hear monitors beeping and people talking in hushed tones, feel a biobed under his back. Knowing this much, meant a Starfleet facility. A Sunraysian doctor came into view on the left as his sight started to clear and Stamets appreciated that his head hurt like hell. Leaning over his prostrate body, the doctors mouth worked but he couldn’t distinguish the words. A medical instrument of some kind hummed in her hand, before turning to a dermal regenerator and fixing the oozing wound on the scientists’ scalp.

_No, no, no, no_ , the word echoed in Real Paul’s head as he looked around wildly, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. It appeared every bed in the facility held a body, several on gurneys, covered. Chaos the order of the day, meaning they must be at war with the Klingons in this existence. So much blood and death surrounding Stamets, he felt sick to the stomach. Suddenly recalling the tranquil weeks spent in his last reality, Paul hoped his last domestic situation couldn’t be occurring again. Hugh, his Dearest Doctor on the other side requesting he follow his finger with his eyes, the Lieutenant let out a pent-up sigh.

“Mr. Stamets?” the Sunraysian spoke, shaking his shoulder slightly to get her patients attention. Golden irises flicked to the doctor on the other side of his bed, making Stamets vision swim again as he attempted to turn his head and follow the silent communication between professionals.

“Yes,” Paul answered as he closed his lids and swallowed back the bile. Expecting his counterparts’ memories to drop into his mind, he failed to find them. Then again, with a head injury, maybe he could get away with acting vague until they appeared.

“What do you recall?” the yellow toned doctor asked with her species version of a smile.

Attempting to focus once again while reaching up, Paul grinned. Lips wide and full, he struggled to touch Hugh’s face, only there were two of them whirling above him. The doctor pulled away instantly. Glancing down, Stamets noticed a band encircling Dr Culber’s finger, which caused his stomach to revolt. The matching ring didn’t grace his hand, turning the nausea into a full-blown dry retch. Saddened, Paul lifted his hand, looking for a tattoo, hoping against hope, he hadn’t made the same mistake in this reality. It seemed in this universe at least, his pheromones didn’t match that of the Sunraysian woman to his left.

As if the CMO read her patients thoughts, she instinctively puffed out distress hormones. A little under a month, and Paul Stamets understood more about chemicals capable of acting on another’s body than he ever wanted too. Slightly pulling up the cuff of her jacket, the Sunraysian’s marriage marking became evident. Her mate, a nurse working on the other side of the room, instantly became aware of his wife’s distress. Pulling up his sleeve as he rapidly approached the biobed, the bonding knot became whole when their wrists touched and he let out a puff of answering pheromones.

“Hugh,” Paul pleaded in a croaky voice filled with pain, his eyes only for the man in white, “what’s happening to me?”

“What do you remember?” Dr Culber asked, his voice soft, comforting but professional.

“Only my name,” Paul answered. _No stretch of the truth there_ , he thought, _at least in this universe. Hugh saves that soft tone for his patients, instantly putting them at ease. He’s the same at home when he’s dealing with me and I’m sick and impossible._

“You’ve been in an accident, Mr. Stamets,” Ayra spoke just as kindly. Nodding at her colleague, the Sunraysian handed over the care of this individual to her most experienced doctor. Their patient seemed more at ease with the human medic. Such discrimination mostly wiped from the Federation, when a person suffered life threatening injury, they often turned to their own kind for consolation and comfort. “I’m going to leave you with Dr Culber-Cohen.”

“Okay,” Paul’s brow furrowed in a worried expression. He wondered if Hugh had taken his spouses name, not that Real Paul knew anyone by the name of Cohen. “How bad is it, Dear Doctor? I don’t like the expression on your face, so it must be really serious.”

“Mr. Stamets,” Hugh started, but almost twenty years in another reality as this man’s partner gave Paul an idea of Culber’s emotions. The news wasn’t good.

Trying to sit up, Hugh laid a gentle hand on Paul’s chest, effectively stopping any movement. “Easy,” he stated calmly, using very little effort to push Stamets back onto the bed. “There’s bleeding in most of the major brain vessels. Frankly, you’re a wonder of modern medical science.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t be alive?” Paul questioned. “I don’t remember the accident.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hugh’s smile turned tight. A small body movement indicated the loss surrounding them, the amount of death and destruction Culber tried to hide from his patient. It seemed many perished from the disaster. “We were light years away when the Klingon’s attacked. Many of the shafts had collapsed by the time we arrived. We were lucky to get this many out before another war bird showed up over Corvan.”

“Then the war is lost,” Paul sighed, putting a hand over his eyes. They’d teared up and a sharp pain lanced through his right temple. Beginning to lose consciousness, Stamets other hand reached out for his Dear Doctor.

As if Hugh knew his patient required contact for the last moments of his life, Culber accepted the warmth, linking their fingers. Running his other digits through sand and dust covered once blond hair, he whispered, “if only we’d met a long time ago. I think I would have liked you, Engineer Stamets.”

Paul found his conscious floating. Watching the scene from an omnipresent view gave a new perspective. Dr Ayra returned, her eyes now deep golden-brown indicating sorrow. A look between professionals said all that needed communicating.

“He should not have woken, in his state,” Ayra commented sadly.

“It’s a miracle he did. I can’t imagine what those miners went through down there,” Hugh responded desolately.

“Can you not? Ayra asked, her irises taking on a green shade. Emotions changed a Sunraysian’s eye colour. She felt despondent for her colleague who had lost so much in this war. “How long have you been morning Mark?”

“A year,” Hugh grimaced. “He passed in the battle of the Binaries, most probably trying to get as many patients evacuated as possible. You know, medical students aren’t supposed to fall in love with their lectures. Nineteen, I was nineteen when we got married. We’ve spent a great deal of our life apart, both being in Starfleet. But, I felt a connection, such a strong bond to Mr. Stamets even though we just met. Maybe, if he’d made it...”

“He reminds you of Mark,” Ayra offered, looking at the pale man. “He could almost be Dr Cohen’s sibling; the likeness is so great.”

A melancholy smile covered Hugh’s face as the pain started for Paul. He’d learnt two very difficult lesions. Dr Paul Stamets didn’t survive in every universe, but Hugh Culber by any name would always be his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t help myself. I hope you picked up the Rent reference. Who knows, you might see more in the future.


	6. June 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mention of physical and sexual slavery follows. I condone neither and strongly suggest anyone who’s suffered physical or sexual trauma skips this chapter and seeks appropriate help. This is Fanfiction, and there is a reason for including this scene within the context of my story. I have attempted to keep as much detail off camera so as to get the idea across in a tactful and as dignified way as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my amazing 13-year-old son who is a whizz-kid, GPA 4.0 in the gifted class, straight A’s and puts me to shame in the intelligence department, but has special interests in History and Science. He wants to be a quantum physicist. I’m relying on his interpretation of history to make this universe, and others in the future work. He is an amazing recourse.
> 
> Also, Araviis. We have been commenting on her story, Cowboy like Me. Your remarks inspired much of Paul’s refection in this alternative universe. Your observations have made me think about several new ideas, including thoughts on how a person’s particular circumstances influence their behaviour. I can thank you for this scene becoming much longer than originally anticipated.

Restraints on his hands, Paul Stamets lay face down on a bed with a pillow cushioning his hips. From the noises, he could tell Hugh enjoyed the sight, copping more than a feel as fingers splayed open his cheeks. They’d never played games like this, in their universe. Oh, they’d talked about it, deciding they had enough imagination within their intimate life without adding restraints.

If Hugh asked Paul not to touch himself, or his lover, or to keep his hands still, he did, no matter how sorely tempted he might be to ignore the warning. Such trust existed between them after almost twenty years as partners and lovers, that both instinctively knew they were in for a very special time when these exceptional requests were issued. They had an active love life, not necessarily requiring penetrative sex to get off on each other. At least one morning on the week of their alpha shift rotations, they’d had to skip breakfast entirely because they’d taken too long in the shower. Paul’s aging knees usually paid the price for the rest of the day. Hugh’s more in shape body didn’t seem to suffer the same fate.

Feeing well prepared, something he always expected from his Dear Doctor, Stamets waited for his lover to push into him. Yet, this didn’t feel quite right. Anticipation always made Paul harder, but he felt, well, nothing. Could it be that his mind knew this wasn’t **_his_** Hugh? That this felt like **_cheating_** on the man who inspired noting but love and devotion? In his first reality, they never did more than kiss over two sleeping children after the Admiral came home. Stamets had been so happy in that reiteration of them, giddy almost, at the prospect of being a real family, he hadn’t thought much about anything. In the second and fifth, Paul died, making the point moot. The third environment hadn’t been conducive to intimate relationships, with Hugh disabled, although they had shared a searing kiss. As for that fourth one, where he’d married a Sunraysian woman, a shiver passed over Stamets. His excuse would always be that the pheromones made him do it. Stamets could imagine his Dear Doctor laughing at Paul’s description, his hands flying in the air.

“That’s right,” Hugh suddenly spoke in a husky voice, his breath cascading over Paul’s ear, hardness paused at his entry, “it’s time to get my rocks off.”

The soft action followed by a very intentional nip made Paul shivered once again, harder this time. Hugh knew all his erogenous zones. The little bit of skin at the base of his ear, when pulled between Culber’s teeth did wicked things for Stamets libido. Yet, he couldn’t feel his penis reacting to the effort. In fact, he couldn’t feel his penis at all. Nor the usual lust causing his testis to retract as his erection drained blood from the rest of his body.

“Hugh,” Paul managed, starting to struggle against the restraints and the heavy weight on his back.

His mind searched for context and came up blank. Eyes noticed they were in a bedroom, but from his limited movement, he couldn’t distinguish where. Not their quarters on _Discovery_ or any of the apartments they’d shared over their relationship. Something about this realty began to feel a more than a little perverted. The bed must have a foot board at least, because Stamets became aware his feet were also confined. Spread eagle, he suddenly felt vulnerable, but Hugh would never hurt him.

_At least_ , Real Paul’s mind added, starting to become truly afraid, _my Dear Doctor would never hurt me. This man, he’s more built. I can feel the muscles of his pecks rubbing against my back. His is heavier than my Dear Doctor, by at least twenty kilos. His hands are stronger as well and all over me, slightly rough, more demanding. He’s enjoying my apprehension. My darling Hugh would never think of causing it in the first place._

With this plea, Hugh’s lips curved into a smile as they moved down Paul’s neck. Nipping the soft skin, Stamets attempted to pull away from the marauding teeth, at least as much as his bonds would allow. Rewarded with long, hard suction, when he protested verbally again, Culber snickered and bit down, hard.

“That’s going to leave a mark, Hugh,” Paul sounded really pissed. “It’s above the collar of my uniform. Undo the restraints, I’m not having fun anymore. I just hope the dermal regenerator has enough power to heal that bruise before my shift.”

Pushing into his slave, Hugh Culber wondered if Paul found a new method of exciting him. Whatever he’d learnt from his fellow eunuchs, it seemed to be working. The doctor understood others of Paul’s cast often met to trade information on how to please their masters. He’d never gotten over the fact his position meant he could afford to keep such a fine specimen. In fact, Hugh had been lucky ten years ago, in the right place at the right time when Stamets came up for sale. Paul’s previous owner became angry with him. His pale skin and hair, blue eyes made Stamets a commodity truly worth owning. Lorca used the man unmercifully after having him chopped at the age of fifteen. It seemed the Captain liked to breed his slaves to suit the current market, keeping the best for himself and selling the rest. He hadn’t wanted such rare genes floating about in the pool for others to utilise, so had disposed of Paul’s parents as after having them sterilised, thereby ensuring another would not be born from the pair.

“Get off me, Hugh,” Paul struggled, truly bringing to panic.

Shaken that his eunuch would answer back after being compliant his entire length of service, Hugh did as request out of shear shock and the terrified note in his voice. His slave never asked for anything. Culber ensured he treated his possession well. He’d uncovered some of the acts Lorca forced upon Paul. It took most of the first two years, just to get the man to talk, to look at him, to meet his eye when giving his eunuch an order. During any sexual act, he lay there like a sack initially. Culber had not enjoyed those first few intimate contacts. After telling Stamets exactly what he liked, how he should be pleasured, things improved. His slave began to realise physical violence would not be administered for anything but the most blatant disobedience, which enriched their relationship as Paul became less afraid. Now, Paul seemed to actively participate, suggesting new ideas his other eunuch friends found to titivate their masters. Sitting on the side of the bed, Hugh looked at the man, understanding something significant had changed.

“Now release these restraints,” Paul demanded.

“If this is some new game,” Hugh’s tone became soft but threatening. He didn’t make a move towards removing the bindings.

“It’s not,” Paul turned his head to see Culber’s form. He couldn’t distinguish Hugh’s face from this angle but body language and voice told Stamets enough. He needed to be very carefully. His Dear Doctor didn’t lose his temper very often, but when he did, it could be blinding. _And I’m in a very exposed situation_ , Paul’s brain reminded.

Sighing, Stamets had considered this before. Should he use Real Paul’s experiences to influence this universe? Could it be considered right, ethical, moral? That’s when this Stamets memories fell into place. Their universes deviated around the year 1500. Christopher Columbus discovered the America’s, however, many of the Colony ships were lost in the Atlantic due to horrendous storms. They never settled the New World and their dominance of the within the Mediterranean, amongst other waterways around the world, decimated with the loss of much of the Navy. When Sulaimon the Magnificent took his Ottoman army and sieged Vienna in 1529. Portugal and Spain, in a delicate position, allowed a combined Moroccan/Ottoman army to re-establish The Caliphate of Cordoba in a dual pronged attack that would not have been possible, had the Spanish and Portuguese Navies still be at their best. This single fact changed the world.

African Nations, in the pocket of Sulaimon, aided the Turks when the Christian of Europe refused to live under Muslin rule. The Sultan offered inclusion, safety, religious freedom if they pledged allegiance to him. Those left after the insurrection were enslaved. Over the years, slavers chose Europeans with paler skin, hair and eyes to increase profits, particularly in the New World as Sulaimon’s descendants spread their Empire around the globe. They became more valuable as mixed-race children began to breed out such prized traits. Eventually offspring gained enough melanin resulting in their skin being dark and giving them status as true citizens. Slaves aspired to the darkest possible masters, so their progeny would not live in servitude, making Paul Stamets an exquisite and unique specimen.

“This,” Stamets used his eyes to indicate the room, his position on the bed, “is not going to be easy for you to understand. I have the memory of your,” swallowing hard, he found the word difficult to say, “slave. My name is also Paul Stamets, but I’m not your Paul. I’ve sort of landed in his body. I can’t tell you know long I’ll be here.”

“This must be some game,” Hugh glared, his brown eyes boring into his eunuch.

“I wish it were,” Paul sighed. “In my world, we’re equal, all people, all species are considered to have the same rights.”

Hugh snorted. For the entirety of his life, dark skinned humans had the right to own pink skins. Sure, they treated other species with respect, no matter what the colour of their dermis, hair or eyes. They met on equal ground. Few questioned the cast system employed by Solarian’s, those who belonged to the Grand Caliphate of Sol. Culber had never considered this a double standard, but it seemed his slave, very suddenly, did. In a strange way, a way he’d never pondered, Hugh could see this alternative point of view.

“I’m a respected scientist, an Astromycologist, the head of my field,” Paul explained, once again pulling at his bonds in the hope Hugh might at least loosen them. “You’re a doctor, and a very good one. We’ve been together almost 20 years.”

Once again Hugh snorted, with a little less hostility this time.

“We met in a café in Alpha Centauri,” Stamets continued more to keep talking, than any real hope of convincing the man to release him, “and fell in love almost instantly. I acted so rude towards you, but you didn’t care. You sat next to me in spite of my being prickly and called me out. We liked that about each other, the honesty and ability to be ourselves. It’s what drew us together and kept us that way.”

Culber moved so Paul could see his face. Contorted in a mix of horror and astonishment, he asked, “in this other world, you can read?”

“And write,” Paul jiggled his hand. “I’m happy to demonstrate, if you just take off this restraint.”

Hesitating, Stamets knew that look. Hugh with an issue, attempting to resolve it, analysing, thinking, conceptualising. In many ways, his Hugh and this one weren’t all that dissimilar in personality, it seemed circumstance caused the change in behaviour. The best thing Paul could do now, remain quiet while Culber made up his mind. Thirty seconds later, he called for the computer to release his slave. Patting the space beside him, the doctor still required instant obedience but appeared intensely curious. Paul scrambled, knowing what this worlds punishment could be. Handed a PADD, it took a few moments to look at the controls and understand how to use the device. In those seconds, Culber seemed to lose much of his tolerance.

“I write a language called standard in my reality,” Stamets stated, picking up the stylus. Form memory, he started transcribing his latest paper on _Discovery’s_ Spore Drive. “Do you have a universal translator? It should be able to turn this into Arabic. I assume, from the difference in our histories, that’s the language of Earth.”

“Earth?” Hugh questioned.

“It’s what we call our home planet,” Stamets responded. “As a species, we are called humans.”

“Read,” Hugh pointed to the words on the screen. “I wish to hear your voice. It is the same, yet, different.”

Grinning, Paul offered, “you mean full of confidence because I know what I’m talking about. Just like you, I mean my own Dear Doctor when he comes home and needs to debrief after a bad day at work, I love to hear the sound of his voice. It soothes me in ways I never thought possible.”

Waving at the PADD, Hugh made his intentions obvious with a frown. He wouldn’t give Paul more time, starting to raise his hand. Watching his eunuch, the wonder on his face as the translator allowed Culber to listen, he understood some of the science behind the mycelia theory. He’d even heard a colleague speaking on the topic once. The research had not been approved by the Caliphate and dropped over a decade ago. It gave credence to this strange story in a way Dr Culber couldn’t conceptualise.

Paul shouldn’t have this level of understanding, never having attended school and unexposed to more than his parents until taken as a sex slave, then to Lorca’s private rooms in his mansion before coming to Hughes house. Continuing to speak, it seemed obvious this subject mattered to him by the changing expression on his slaves’ face, the way he moved his hand when he spoke. Reciting the facts and figures by rote, his slave’s mind seemed sharper and more intelligent than Hugh had ever noticed. He also discussed as if he believed himself to be equal to a Citizen of Sol.

Transfixed to the device as he continued to think, Culber snatched it from Paul. “Never, never show anyone you can do this. Do you understand me.”

“Yes,” Paul swallowed. “On my world, my Earth, people of colour, were enslaved for a long time by people like me. We learnt our lesson. It took centuries for our species to accept that we’re all the same on the inside. We all bleed red blood, have a beating heart and require love, warmth, family, food and shelter to survive.”

“Why,” Culber’s eyes took on a curious expression, “have you come here, to this…reality… if you are such an eminent scientist in your own?”

“Honestly,” Paul smiled, “I’m still trying to figure that out. My spore drive, it’s sending me to alternative universes. I’m not sure why, what I’m supposed to learn. Maybe, I’m fated to change this one in some way. After all, it took a lot of people to start any real change on my home planet, a transformation that ended the concept of slavery.”

“You wish to be free?” the notion seemed alien to this Hugh.

“Put yourself in this Paul Stamets position,” the scientist stated. “Your penis and testis have been removed. You could be sold to anyone, anytime you displease your master. You have no rights, dependant on your owner to feed, cloth, educate and treat you well.”

“I have never considered this,” Culber responded, pensively.

“Because you do it naturally, within the confines of your cultural belief system. Besides,” Paul spoke carefully, “sexual activities should be between consenting adults. On my world, Lorca would have been jailed for assaulting a minor, among other crimes considered heinous, as would you.”

“You could refuse me,” Hugh stood and started pacing, “on your world?”

“I have that right, as do you, but,” Paul smiled, “neither of us do, unless we’re really tired. We enjoy each other at least once a week. Cuddling and fondling is more my Dear Doctor’s style. He likes to touch and kiss. My Hugh is a great kisser. And,” Stamets felt the pull, the pain start, “my time in this reality is up. I hope our talk makes you think differently, of your slave. If he’s me, he has such untapped potential.”

Dr Hugh Culber watched in awe as the intelligent, bright eyed, well-spoken, man disappeared. In his place, dead blue irises gazed out of a pale face. Moving on the mattress, his eunuch flinched, as if he’d displeased his master. Taking up the position on the bed, hand and legs out, waiting for the restraints, Culber felt the loss of a man perhaps more than his equal. Calling for the computer to reinitiate the bonds, he climbed on top of his slave.

“Do you enjoy this?” Hugh asked. “Do you enjoy me?”

“I live to served, Master,” Paul answered, tone stiff. Realising his owner waited for more, he added, “I should prefer serving you than Master Lorca. Please,” panicked, Stamets attempted to turned his head, “are you intending to sell me? I will please you in any way possible. I am ready.”

Culber found his already waning erection completely limp at the shear panic in those dull orbs. Calling for the restraints to be removed once again he rolled to one side, pulling his slave into his arms. Declaring in a tone softened by his interaction with the other Paul Stamets, “I wish to try something. Do you know of this kissing?”

“I,” faltering, after ten years, the eunuch finally confessed, “it is the reason Master Lorca became so infuriated with me. I refused to kiss him. He…he would bite, draw blood.”

“We all bleed red blood,” Hugh stated, eyes going wide at the revelation. His slave glanced at him sideways, as if he’d gone made. “I will not force you to kiss me, but would like it if you did.”

Reaching over, the pale man’s hand stroked the cheek of his master. “I have a choice?” he questioned with something approaching reverence. Receiving a nod, Paul nervously touched his lips to his masters. Another slave had told him about this. The woman seemed to have a very progressive owner. She declared he would always protect her and allowed her many liberties. “I also would like to kiss you, because I can, not because you demand it. Please do not restrain me. I will lay any way you ask, keep my hands in position you wish, but do not bind me.”

“You enjoy choice,” this new concept needed contemplation. “Leave me now. You have not displeased me, Paul, so put away your fear. I find I do not like it. I do like this kissing. We will attempt it again in the future.”

“I should like that, Master,” Paul’s lips cured, genuinely happy for perhaps the first time in his life, before scurrying away to wash himself clean.

Real Paul managed to remain in the last universe for a few minutes because that Stamets died. This time, he hovered, watching a slave and his master converse for the first time. His mind felt elated, _this visit might be the start of a revolution, a change in the way people think of each other. I may have caused an enduring shift in this universe. It’s a shame I can’t stay around and find out the results._


	7. Jump 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requires knowledge of ST:Enterprise, episode First Flight.

Paul wanted to communicate all he’d learnt to Hugh, especially in the last reality. His Dear Doctor stood just outside the cube door, safe and secure but without the revelations Paul felt at his very core. No matter the circumstances, Hugh Culber would always be his Dearest Doctor. His behaviour might change, shaped by circumstance, but the man beneath would always be kind, compassionate and intelligent.

A concerned expression covered Culber’s face. Attempting to talk, the pain hit before Stamets could utter a sound. The last image he took into this next reality, the emotions crowding into those amazing warm, chocolate coloured irises would have to sustain him.

“Hugh,” knowledge of this universe came before anything else, filling Paul’s mind instantaneously.

“Get rid of that PADD,” Hugh hissed at his side, “and that dopy look on your face that said ‘I’ve just made a breakthrough’. Vanesh is about to walk in the door. You don’t want to give this away.”

Rolling his eyes, Stamets complied, quickly and without another word. A few seconds after hiding said PADD, the Vulcan entered the room. Nodding acknowledgement towards the scientists, she looked around the laboratory. While her race did not subscribe to emotion, Hugh could swear she observed with a heightened level of expectation. He’d become very savvy at reading their alien overlords expressions. This skill brought Drs Stamets and Culber together initially, culminating in their secret relationship. Vulcans did not have homosexual tendencies and did not tolerate the illogical nature of same sex bonds in Humans.

“Administrator Sobol wishes a report on your progress, Dr. Stamets,” the woman stated.

“I submitted it last night,” Paul responded, carefully, almost biting his tongue in the effort to remain stoic. “If you want results, then I require access to the specimens in their natural environment. I cannot study _prototaxites stellaviatori_ effectively outside of the native ecosystem. Dr. Culber and I have submitted the appropriate documentation to transport to the site, so I may continue my enquiries.”

“Denied,” Vanesh stated in a monotone typical of her species.

“That is not logical,” Hugh entered the conversation for the first time. Laying a hand on Paul’s arm, he silenced his partner. “Administrator Sobol is ware of the advancement to space travel Dr. Stamets research will provide. Unless a scientist is given access to all the tools, it would be impossible to investigate every possibility. I am sure the High Command requires this line of enquiry to be explored completely.”

“I will take this under consideration,” Vanesh agreed, turning and sweeping out of the room.

Letting out his breath, Paul sagged into the nearest chair. “I wish,” he whined in Hugh’s direction, “they’d just pack up and go home.”

“We both know that will never happen,” Culber placed a consoling hand on his partner’s back, rubbing circles.

_No, it won’t_ , Real Paul added, _because Humanity never got out into the stars. Commanders Archer and Robinson never stole the NX Beta prototype. Starfleet never stood up to their Vulcan overlords. The Warp 5 complex became a shadow of its former self as we went back to the drawing board. A hundred years later and this civilisation is barely managing warp 3. What happened to Charles Tucker_. 

Shaking his head, Paul offered, “maybe it could. The Vulcan’s ships haven’t managed to go beyond warp 7 for over a century. What’s holding them back? Why do they keep humans from serving on their ships?”

“Paul,” Hugh shook his head, “apart from the fact we’ve had this conversation many times before, you and I both know that technology is held at a level above top secret.”

“Why,” demanded the scientist. “Think, Hugh. We’re so use to following, when did a human last have a non-Vulcan thought. Until they came, men with our appetites could marry…”

“Not this again,” Hugh interrupted, only to be grabbed by his partner. Eyes locking, blue clashed with brown and Paul’s hands tightened on his upper arms.

“Just listen. What if there’s a world of possibilities out there, inside the network, waiting to be unlocked. What if _prototaxites stellaviatori_ opens up a completely new vision for not only this reality, but the multiverses that exist alongside each other. Might there not be a world where Vulcan’s don’t get to decide what’s best for humanity?” Paul demanded.

“I guess,” Hugh offered, not convinced.

“I need to find Captain Trip Tucker,” Paul hummed, his mind lost while his hold on Culber turned intimate. No longer gripping, Stamets fingers massaged as his mind considered and either rejected or accepted options.

Sighing, Hugh gently pulled away. Sitting, he watched his partner of many years, still astounded by the intelligence of the man. They couldn’t live together, build a life outside of work. Vulcan culture had taken over every aspect of humanity as individuals strove to be noticed and rewarded. Many practiced hours of meditation, attempted to reign in their emotions and took up other Vulcan pursuits to make themselves acceptable, sponsored, integrated. Only Paul’s startling astuteness allowed him the influence he’d gained, and by association, Dr. Culber.

“He never made it into Starfleet,” Paul muttered after a several minutes research on his PADD. Looking up, startled, Hugh felt the emotions rolling off the man.

“Why is that so important,” he asked softly.

“The warp 2 engine,” Stamets uttered, closing his eyes as he realised the significance a small change could make to an entire species. “Tucker, Archer and Robinson stole the NX beta, proving Henry Archer’s engine design wasn’t flawed, as the Vulcan’s stated. It allowed Starfleet to stand on their own, continue research into warp theory and engineering.”

“Paul, you’re not making sense,” Hugh confused.

“No, I wouldn’t, but that’s okay, my Dearest Doctor,” he responded with a smile.

Moving in with obvious intentions, Hugh held him at arm’s length. “Not here,” Culber hissed.

_It seems Archer and Tucker were correct in my universe_ , Paul smiled, giving the love of his life a sappy look, _and the Vulcan’s needed humanity to come up with an alternative warp drive, one not dependant on dilithum. It didn’t get them anywhere, as this alternative universe proves. Without the NX Beta scandal, human kind didn’t get out into the stars, the Federation wasn’t born, Starfleet abandoned its principles and the galaxy stagnated._

“Hey, Paul,” Hugh called the man back to reality, “I lost you for a moment.”

“Never, but I need your opinion, Hugh,” Paul decided.

“Sure,” Culber offered, more than a little confused by this odd behaviour.

“Let’s say I’m not your Paul, but a Paul Stamets from another reality,” he started, watching his lover of twenty years expression. Soften by years under Vulcan dominance, Paul could still see his Hugh underneath. “Let’s say, in that universe, the Vulcan’s don’t influence humanity to the same extent and I know the moment the two existences diverged. Would it be ethical for me to make a change that might better an entire species?”

“Theoretically speaking,” Hugh took several breaths and more than a minute to answer the loaded question while Paul waited patiently for his response, “and using the morality of this reality, I’d have to go with the Vulcan’s. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one.”

“In that case, My Darling Doctor, let me tell you about a world where Charles ‘Trip’ Tucker entered Starfleet and became the most eminent engineer humanity has ever known by taking that useless engine and had it flying at warp 6.5 by the time he retired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug for my stories Enterprise: From this Moment and Enterprise: Frist Contact, which details the history of the relationship between Captain Jonathan Archer and Commander Charles Tucker.
> 
> Let me know what you think. Should I continue? Skip some jumps? Are you enjoying?


	8. Jump 8

_Blind, I’m blind. No, I’m not, I’m just staring up into the intense sunlight_ , the revelation came slowly to Paul Stamets.

Bringing his neck back to a neutral position afforded the Astromycologist an amazing view. Observing the immediate vicinity slowly, Paul took in the surroundings with a soft, awed sigh. Powdery white beach stopped a metre from the leg of the table. The hard surface beneath his feet looked to be tightly fitted stone in shades of grey with warm tones scattered through out the tiling. A balustrade separated the café from the swimming area, stopping sand encroaching into the shops and restaurants lining the pristine seafront.

Tables for two scattered along the shore, different colours and styles indicating the business they belonged too. Each establishment overlooked a crystal-clear aquamarine ocean, growing in colour until it became a deep blue and met the cloudless azure sky. Waves crashed softly into a bubbly surf, unheard over the sounds of excited children playing in the sand. Further up the shore, couples rested on lounges of various sizes and shapes. In the other direction a flotilla of recreational land and sea vehicles rested in the water or on the sand, catering to every possible taste and whim.

_I’m on Riza_ , Paul realised. He’d been once, with Hugh, early in their relationship. They’d stayed at a resort not far from a beach just like this one. It had been a magical vacation, especially as their first ‘I love you’ had been uttered in the afterglow.

Then he heard it over all the other sounds. That atrocious humming. Throughout their years together, Paul Stamets became amused by Hugh Culber’s attempts to mimic Kasseelian Opera, especially as each and every one failed dismally. Picking up his PADD, the scientist felt rather happy the memories of this version of himself hadn’t dropped in. His hands and wrist indicated a life without a permanent partner. The fact he sat alone, a plate and single wine glass empty on the table meant he probably didn’t have a significant other. Anyone coming to Riza alone, well, there were diversions of all kinds to be found. Besides, Paul Stamets now understood he belonged to Hugh Culber in any universe and this one just handed the man to him on a platter.

“Is this seat taken?” Paul asked, a wide smile gracing his lips. He knew why he’d landed in this reality, on Riza, occupying the table three down from Hugh, who hummed that dam opera off key. _After all, I’ve been here before, only I was twenty years younger. I’m being given the chance to do it all over again._

“I’m waiting for someone,” Culber offered, unmoving and with a slight frown.

“I guess that would be me,” Paul’s mind slipped into the usual banter they’d shared for almost two decades. “Although I could do without the rendition of Gyulitaete.”

“You know Kasseelian Opera?” Culber sounded astonished. Eyebrows arching while tilting his head slightly to one side, brown eyes didn’t quiet meet Paul’s. 

“Unfortunately,” Stamets made a face indicting his dislike, “but I’ll sit through a performance if you agree to be my date.”

“You don’t like Opera in general or just Kasseelian?” Hugh enquired, seemingly a little on edge with the very forward conversation.

His Dear Doctor’s body language and inability to meet his hopeful gaze, proved they didn’t know each other in this reality. In fact, Stamets would bet Culber felt a little tentative and more than slightly apprehensive. Noticing a second place setting on this side of the table, Stamets understood he’d crashed what might be a date. Still, Real Paul wasn’t going to let that little detail stand in the way of this Stamets eternal happiness. He just had to convince Hugh he’d be a better match.

“I’d really like to get to know you,” Stamets confessed easily, his smile intonated within the words. “If that means I have to sit through an Operatic performance, even a Kasseelian program, I would be my pleasure. Until then, I’d like to buy you a drink, and we can talk.”

That brought a smile to Hugh’s face. “Thanks, but I already have someone getting me a drink.”

“I’m not going away,” Paul insisted, “and I’m not taking no for an answer, unless your married.”

“I’m not,” Culber offered a little sadly, before confessing, “recently single.”

Sighing, Paul pulled out the seat, preparing to sit. “I’m a good listener,” he offered.

“Excuse me,” a woman interrupted, indicating the chair. She slipped into it easily, placing something long and tall before Hugh.

“Not to worry,” Stamets grinned, not taken back by the sever expression on the lady’s face. Promptly going back to his prior position, Paul picked up his seat and carried it over to Hugh’s table, positioning his chair closer to the man than woman. Plonking himself down, the memories of this Stamets fell into to place. His history similar to that of Real Paul, but without years at Hugh’s side. In the last few jumps, Stamets learnt to override the mind he inhabited and make the body do as he bid. Using his knowledge, he stated, “we were just about to discuss Dr. Culber joining me at a performance of La Bohme this evening. It’s an Andorran version by a very reputable troupe.”

“And you know Hugh,” the woman asked confrontationally, “how?”

“Ever heard of soulmates,” Paul faced the lady still giving him the evil eye. “I’m afraid it’s a very bad case of love at first sight.”

Snorting, the woman lifted her wine glass, taking a small sip. Catching the eye of a passing waiter, Paul pointed to the empty on his table, indicating he should bring a bottle.

“You’re being rather presumptuous,” she stated.

“With the wine?” Paul asked. “I’m well aware Dr. Culber doesn’t drink alcoholic beverages. Or perhaps your speaking on a more personal level?”

“What if I don’t want you talking to Hugh?” she returned.

Turning to the man in question, Paul asked in a soft voice, “Hugh?” giving him the option to send Stamets away.

“I don’t even know your name,” Culber stated, softly, just a little wistfully.

Holding out his hand, Paul offered, “Paul Stamets, Dr. Stamets, Astromycologist.”

Almost choking on her wine, the woman managed a squeak.

“The Dr. Stamets,” Hugh sounded awed.

“One and the same,” Paul asserted. “So, opera tonight, as my date?”

It seemed, in this universe, Spore drive technology existed for years. Starfleet had five vessels, all designed by Paul and Justin. Finding and training people to navigate them turn out to be the limiting factor as the Tardigrade DNA compatibility proved elusive. Each of the current Navigators were rather well known within Federation space.

“You want to be seen with me,” Hugh shook his head. “Why?”

Only then did Paul see the old-fashioned white cane propped up against the balustrade. Realisation came seconds later. That initial attraction came from the fact they’d been each other’s type, the honesty between them a close second. Maybe, this Stamets and Culber had met all those years ago on Alpha Centauri, but never connected.

“My Dear Doctor, I don’t want to just be seen with you,” Paul stated, “I want so much more that. So, the opera, tonight, on my arm, as my date?”

“Yes,” Hugh finally agreed.

“Now we have that sorted out, tell me what’s troubling you?” Paul queried, his tone understanding.

“I’ll let my sister fill you in,” Hugh choked up.

Serina, still fuming, nodded. “He got dumped. I’m here filling in for his useless fiancée on what should have been their honeymoon.” Standing, she swallowed the rest of her wine. “Hurt my brother and I’ll have to kill you, Stamets. He needs someone who’ll put him first, so don’t screw this up.”

Nodding, Paul waited until Sarina left. “I’m going to take your hand,” he offered quietly, “and let you feel my face.”

“Why,” Hugh asked, astonished.

“Firstly, so you know I’m telling the truth,” Paul guided Culber’s fingers to his temple and let the man do as he please from there. “Secondly, in another reality, you saved me from becoming blind when one of my mushrooms sprayed my face with acid. Best and worst two weeks of my life, with you at my beck and call because I couldn’t see a thing. I got to know a different side of you, me and our relationship. And lastly, the next time we visit Risa, it will be together on our Honeymoon, because it’s me you’re going to marry, and live mostly happily ever after. I’m a prickly SOB, but I know you can handle my idiosyncrasies.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” Hugh stated, his fingers remaining on Paul’s face, mapping each and every feature.

“Yes, Dear Doctor, I am,” Paul stated, “but only with you.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Hugh sighed, slumping back into his seat. While Paul felt bereft of the contact, he listened to Culber’s life story until they ordered dinner. Over desert, they decided to make the opera their second date. When Riza’s moon started to rise in a very late-night sky, Stamets guided Hugh back to his hotel.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, “dinner at six, show at eight. I’m going to kiss you now, on the forehead. We’ll take this a slow as you need.”

“What if I don’t want slow?” Hugh asked.

“You need time to heal, Dear Doctor.” As much as Paul wanted to take Hugh up on his obvious offer, he knew break up sex never lasted. “I want you whole, before your in my arms and bed.”

Nodding, Culber understood, but didn’t look happy. A week later, after six of the most enchanting and satisfying dates he’d ever experienced, Stamets convinced his Captain to allow Hugh and Serina Culber passage back to Earth on _Discovery_ , the fleets Flagship. During the flight, he introduced his boyfriend to the intimacies of Spore travel. Somehow knowing he couldn’t jump within an alternative universe, Paul Stamets suggested he and Hugh take a walk in his cultivation bay so he could talk about his ‘kiddos’.

Two every significant events occurred in rapid succession. Firstly, Paul finally recognised _prototaxites stellaviatori_ as a single sentient organism, spaning all known space. That revelation came, mainly due to the second event. Hugh Culber, once exposed to the mycelial network, could see within its confines. His beloved mushrooms didn’t care that the Federations newest navigator had a disability outside its influence, within the physical world he inhabited on a daily basis. It only cared that the Chief Navigator found his happiness.

“You,” Hugh laughed, truly holding that note of pure joy in his tone, after his first jump, “have opened my eyes, Paul Stamets. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

“Marry me, as soon as possible,” Paul pleaded.

He didn’t get time to hear the answer as a wave of pain hit him, drawing the Astromycologist back to his own reality. He’d never hear Hugh say yes, but knew the man well enough to anticipate his answer. He knew the Stamets inhabiting this reality would rejoice for the remainder of his life. Never would he have the audacity to approach a stranger in such a familiar manner, proposition him and find lasting happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, the sappiness might not last much longer.


	9. Jump 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Scenes of violence and death occur in this chapter. Please don't read if this distresses you and seek appropriate medical/psychological help.
> 
> Writer's block is difficult to overcome, but, finally, I managed to finish this chapter. As I indicated at the end of Jump 8, we have come to the end of the fluff.

Before Paul Stamets could get his bearing, he felt a sharp, stinging slap delivered from an open palm across his face. Automatically, his hand went to the abused cheek, in the attempt to stop the burning sensation. Blue eyes narrowed on the perpetrator of the crime. The scientist already knew, with all certainty, Captain Gabriel Lorca was not a man to cross, especially in this reality.

“Mr Stamets,” Lorca knew just how to moderate and controlled his tone. Making the words harsh and cold, they washed across the bridge, along with a malevolent glare aimed at his most troublesome crewmember. “I asked you a question. When I ask a question, I expect an immediate answer. Is that clear,” he mocked.

“Crystal, Captain, but still doesn’t change the fact that I can’t give you the response you want when I don’t have an answer for you,” Paul glared at the hated man.

Glancing around _Discovery’s_ control centre, all the usual suspects sat at their consoles, surreptitiously sneaking glances towards the scientist and glad they weren’t under Lorca’s scrutiny. Once again Burnham and Tyler seemed to be missing which meant the war with the Klingon might not be going well, or maybe never started. Unable to locate a war map didn’t give Stamets any definite clues. However, two burly guards held Hugh between them. While the good doctor didn’t try to disengage either security officer, obviously, Culber felt intimidated by his vulnerable position designed to coerce Paul.

A nod form Lorca, along with a mocking grin, resulted in action. One of the guard’s punched Hugh. His aim on target, Culber’s legs crumpled, not with the force of the blow, but the placement. Held up by the sentry on the other side, the power directed towards the doctor’s solar plexus had him gasping for breath as the bundle of nerves sent pain radiating throughout his chest and abdomen.

“I’ll ask you again,” Lorca gave another silent order to the security officers. Manhandling Culber, they made the doctor stand while still attempting to suck in air. The threat obvious to everyone on the bridge. One more insubordinate response from Stamets and the medic would pay the price.

“Have sick bay examine me, if you don’t believe me,” Paul tried not to show his concern for Hugh. Obviously, they had some kind of relationship in this universe, or else Lorca wouldn’t be using the doctor to convince Stamets to answer his questions. “I know who I am, who you are, I could name most of these people on the bridge and know we’re on _Discovery_. As to the rest, I can’t answer a question if I don’t know the response.”

A movement of his head and the guards released Culber. A sharply uttered, “Doctor” caused Hugh to drag in a deep breath and step forward, slowly. Approaching Paul, tricorder out, he scanned the scientist. A cursory examination caused brown eyes became wide and nasal passages flare. The sensor made a much slower, more detailed second sweep, especially around Stamets head.

“Well,” Lorca demanded irritably, noticing the silent communication between lovers.

“I’m not sure,” Hugh looked into Paul’s blue eyes with concern, “what’s going on here, Captain. There are blatant changes in the structure of his brain.”

“So, he could be telling the truth?” Lorca asked, unhappy with this information. Stepping forward he hovered over Culber’s shoulder, as if he didn’t believe the doctor’s word.

“It would take more than a preliminary scan to understand how these changes are affecting Specialist Stamets,” Hugh closed the tricorder and turned towards his superior officer. “Dr. Ephraim is the best neurologist on board. I’m sure he would agree; deeper scans are required to determine the long-term effect and commence on a treatment plan.”

“Take these gentlemen,” Lorca commanded with a nod towards the security detail, “to sick bay. Neither of them is to leave until I get answers.” Allowing the group to move towards the turbolift, the Captain added softly, “and if Stamets can’t recall anything about the spore drive by this time tomorrow, you have my permission to space Dr. Culber from the forward airlock. I’m sure the bridge crew would like to see his lifeless body float away. Might keep moral up and make Stamets recall the information I want.”

As they turned to get into the lift, Paul’s eye caught Hugh’s. His Dear Doctor had a resigned but angary expression covering his face. Before Stamets could open his mouth, Culber indicated they should remain silent, compliant with eyes forward and find a private moment at some later stage. Wondering what convoluted reality he ended up in, the Astromycologist didn’t think he could learn anything from this universe. He already knew Captain Gabriel Lorca wasn’t a man to be trusted, while Dr. Hugh Culber would always be dependable.

Neither Paul nor Hugh had the opportunity to explain the saturation to the CMO. One of Lorca’s trusted guards did all the talking after entering sick bay. One kept Culber within arm’s reach, the other hovered over Stamets while Dr. Ephraim conducted an excruciatingly detailed examination.

“Well,” Landry marched into the medical section an hour later, expecting a detailed report. One of the guards commed his commanding officer, stating the medics had finished their examination a few minutes ago. “The Captain’s waiting.”

“Dr. Stamets,” the CMO offered, seated at a desk with scans on several screens surrounding her, “has an unusual form of amnesia. I don’t even know how to categorise it, let alone tell you how it occurred. There are changes, maybe degradation, possibly caused by hyperstimulation, throughout the subcortical regions, especially around the limbic system. That’s the part of the brain responsible for memory and recall. At this point, if Dr. Stamets said he can’t remember, I believe him because I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Is this part of the brain usually involved in amnesia?” Landry asked.

“Always,” Ephraim took over the conversation with a frown. “Usually there are treatments to aid in the recovery of memory. They depend on how the memory loss occurred. In this case, even after extensive questioning, Specialist Stamets is unable to recall any incident that might have initiated the change in his neural network or brain chemistry. We’ve attempted to correct the imbalances without success.”

“They almost killed him,” one of the guards stated in an offhanded manner.

“That is not permissible,” Landry turned on the medics. “Captain Lorca would not be please if Stamets is injured further. Find another way to retrieve his memories.”

“We could run a deep engram study and an ARA,” Ephraim glanced at the white-haired woman seated behind her desk, looking for alternatives.

“Those will take time and not necessarily be useful,” Anna Gustafsson commented, examining one of the scans in particular.

“Do it,” Landry ordered, overriding the CMO, whom she knew Lorca detested. Gustafsson would protect her department and subordinates, had done in the past. “The Captain expects result. I want Stamets moved to a private room so I can station two officers outside for his own protection.”

“ _Dr._ Stamets’,” Anna corrected, “behaviour is not consistent with self-harm, and this incident will not change that fact. There is no need for security personnel to clutter up my sick bay.”

“I’d rather be cautious,” Landry smirked, rather evilly.

“Dr. Culber,” the CMO asked, rising an eyebrow. Somehow the subtle gesture undermined the Security Chiefs blatant smugness.

“Put them in the room together,” the Landry sneered, “makes less work for my department. Besides, it could be the last day they spend together.”

Nodding, Ephraim indicated the party should follow him so he could commence the scans in a more secluded location. Once incarcerated within the private bay, Jonathan fiddled with several machines before requesting Paul lay down on the biobed. Bored by the inactivity, the security guard exited the room, ensuring no one could get in or out.

“Now,” Jon gave Hugh a signal, “we can talk. They’ll think the interference is due to the ARA scan.”

“Paul,” Hugh launched himself at the prostrate man.

As much as Stamets wanted to take Culber into his arms, this was not his Dear Doctor. Placing a hand on Hugh’s chest, he gently pushed him away. Blue locking with brown, the medic knew his partner would say something profound.

“Isn’t there some theory, back from the twentieth century, suggesting familiar places might help recover lost memories?” Paul asked the neurologist.

“Yes,” Ephraim stuttered, glaze flicking to his colleague in askance.

“I need to see what Paul Stamets is working on,” Real Paul attempted to explain, “to understand why the mycelial network has sent me to this reality.”

“Are you saying,” Hugh swallowed audibly, “that you’re not my Paul?”

“Yes, Dear Doctor, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Stamets grinned.

Falling into a chair, Culber shook his head as if trying to integrate a lot of data in a very short period of time. Looking up at Jon Ephraim, he explained, “Paul’s work on the spore drive led him to theorise there are multiple universes, existing in the same time/space continuum. It works like this, every time you make a decision, your reality splits in to the number of alternatives you have to select between. Each individual makes hundreds of choices a day, leading to an infinite number of possibilities.” Shaking his head and sighing, Culber looked at the man on the biobed. “Paul only discovered this last night, mathematically speaking from the data we currently have. He doesn’t want Lorca to know. If Discovery gets the spore drive up and running, can you imagine our resident megalomaniac’s response to a reality that’s easy to invade?”

“And that,” Paul realised, “is the information I needed. Look, the memories of your Paul haven’t dropped into my mind, so we have about twenty hours before Lorca makes good on his threat and spaces my Dear Doctor.”

“Dropped in?” Hugh questioned.

“No time,” Paul held out his hand, only to have it encompassed by his love. “I need access to the main computer. Hugh, dose the name Justin Straal mean anything to you?”

“Paul,” the sadness, accompanied by a squeeze told a story.

“How and when,” hesitating, it seemed Hugh didn’t want to speak about his friend. “I need to know.”

“Lorca, forced him to make a jump, further than we’d ever gone before. It didn’t end well,” Culber recalled with a note of melancholy in his voice. “You found him in the cube, contorted and swore you’d never let _Discovery_ jump again.”

“The Captain always considered you the more intelligent and therefore more valuable,” Ephraim added. “He’s been impossible since Straal’s death.”

“Do your ARA scan to buy us time,” Paul decided. “After that, we’ll see if the guards will let me visit familiar places in the hope of restoring my memories. In the meantime, let’s hope your Stamets drops into my mind. It would make navigating this universe so much easier.”

“Paul,” Hugh’s tone took on a timber Stamets knew only too well. The look seemed to be overkill.

“Don’t worry, Dear Doctor,” he smiled, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“This is not about me,” Culber sighed, rolling his eyes. “Lorca knows if he harms me, you’ll curl up into a ball and be no good to him. Up until now, the threat has been enough.”

Snorting, Paul indicated Hugh’s sternum, “what he did to you on the bridge was more than a threat. That man is pure evil, trust me.”

“That’s why,” Culber sold this point with a look, “you have to be careful. He’s capable of anything.”

“Tell me about Starfleet, how Straal and I got on Discovery,” Paul asked.

“Me,” Hugh’s expression became miserable. Slumping into his chair, the doctor explained the history of this universe, which allowed Stamets to make sense of the situation.

The war with the Klingons had been going on for almost a hundred years, since Captain Archer failed to return Klaang to his people in the original _Enterprise_. Emboldened, the Romulans decided to increase their territorial claims, enveloping the systems at the edge of their Star Empire before declaring all out war. Between the two foes, a Federation of sorts had been formed, for the mutual defence and protection of species caught between the opposing factions. It led to a more aggressive Starfleet, promoting Captains on the basis of their ability as tacticians, warriors and strategists, who managed to keep their ships in one piece and crews alive. One did not go into this Starfleet to explore.

Eyebrows rising, it seemed Hugh had been conscripted into the uniform, as were many of his profession the moment they completed their studies. The need for medical personal desperate, Dr. Culber hadn’t been given a choice. The relationship between Hugh and Paul started in much the same way, a small café on Alpha Centauri. However, the doctor had been on forced leave while _Discovery_ made repairs from a series of battles. Lorca learnt about Paul’s research, his eyes and ears everywhere on this ship. Three months later, after monitoring Dr. Culber’s personal comms to his boyfriend, he conscripted not only Dr. Stamets, but his research partner, Dr. Straal, their equipment and findings. Starfleet had been supportive, under the circumstances, seeing the obvious advantage of a spore drive. He’d been pushing the pair for ten years with limited results.

“This,” Paul commented at the end of Hugh’s confession, moving to sit on the side of the biobed, hands on Culber’s shoulders, “is not your fault. As you said before, Lorca’s capable of anything. At some point, he, or another captain just like him, would have heard about the spore drive and made the same decision.”

“Paul,” Hugh pleaded.

“I have to get to my lab,” Stamets stated softly. “I need access to my data, to find out what I’m supposed to learn from this reality.”

Nodding with his head hanging, Hugh offered a wiry sigh of resignation.

Three hours later, Landry stood in the middle of engineering, overseeing Dr. Stamets movements. Initially he’d touched every surface, as if familiarising himself with the equipment. Forcing his brows to furrow, Paul turned on the main computer and lost himself in the information rolling across the screen. It seemed this Stamets added layers of encryption and cyphers, taking precious time to understand the data rolling across the monitor. They’d been close to a breakthrough, understanding the need for a living supercomputer to make the system work. Straal sacrificed himself with Lorca becoming impatient for results by becoming their first test subject with disastrous results. They’d known humans weren’t compatible with the network, but couldn’t find a species that were.

_Without the Glen, nothing attracted the Tardigrade to the spores_ , Paul sighed, _which means it might still be out there in this universe. How do I tell it to stay away, that in this reality the spore drive will be used to cause death and destruction?_

The solution came easily. Moving quickly to his cultivation bay, Paul entered, ensuring none of the security personnel followed. Making his way to the middle of the mushroom forest, Stamets sat and started to commune with the network for several minutes, considering his plan. In the last reality, he’d learnt _prototaxites stellaviatori_ was sentient. Beyond that, _Stella_ could communicate with the tardigrade and the creature had telepathic abelites. Using those threads, Dr. Paul Edward Stamets drew a conclusion. He’d been sent into these various realities to experience effects of his research. Now, he had to test his findings, refine them.

Opening his eyes, a tardigrade appeared before him.

_You understand_ , it stated, mental voice almost tinged with happiness.

_I’m beginning too_ , Paul answered thoughtfully. _I have many questions._

_They will be answered, when you experience all that is required_ , the creature responded. _We have much to show you still._

_Then I will have to experience all one hundred and thirty-three jumps?_ Stamets demanded.

A high-pitched sound, something resembling a laugh, echoed around the empty chamber. Sighing, Paul stood. He didn’t know how much longer he’d exist in this universe, but he knew the tardigrade had been warned, as if the creature hadn’t already known. It would never make another appearance in this universe. Not matter how much research Dr. Stamets achieved, spore travel couldn’t develop beyond theoretical.

“Now,” he huffed, understanding the consequences, “I have to tell Lorca. He’s not going to take it well. I intend to spend as much time as I can with Hugh before that occurs. I have to make him understand why I’m doing this, that his death, and this Paul’s in not in vain.”

When the pain pulled Paul back to his reality several hours later, he left Culber and Stamets holding each other tightly in the moment before the airlock opened. Furious at the scientist’s unwillingness to remember, Gabriel Lorca chose to make an example of the pair. While Paul Stamets didn’t have many close friends, the same couldn’t be said for Dr. Culber. His warmth, generosity and happy nature, along with the expression forever worn on his face while holding the love of his life, had quite the opposite effect on the crew as the entwined pair floated before the main view screen. As did the encrypted message the couple left, coded to play the next time anyone opened their personnel PADD’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions for future realities would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and I'm sorry to kill both Paul and Hugh, but I couldn't find another way to end this chapter that seemed appropriate and poignant. It also feeds into the longer plot arch I'm building.


	10. Jump 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I've had a terrible case of writers block. I'm not sure where this chapter came from. I hope you like it. Thank you all for supporting my work. I lurk, reading your stories, loving them and live in the hope one will spark my imagination.

_What_ , Lt. Stamets mentally went over the last jumps as his body prepared for the pain to signal his entry into an alternative reality, _have I learnt. Hugh good, Lorca bad. Nothing I didn’t know before starting this adventure. Tardigrade sentient, but Hugh would have left me if I’d let anything happen to that creature, so again, nothing I didn’t already know. Stella also sentient, new but not astounding when I really consider the idea. I mean, a fungus connecting the universe, all the universes together. How could it not be sentient?_

Disorientation took him suddenly, to be followed by awareness of a new, bright and unique surroundings. Paul Stamets stood in a small, unusual garden with a turn of the twentieth century clapboard house before him. Painted white with a green tin roof, the veranda extended to one side of the structure and five steps led to the front door. It seemed to be in immaculate condition, given its age.

A brick paved path directed visitors directly from the street side to the door, enclosed with a hedge of African box to keep out prying eyes. The ground covered with a matt of nitrogen producing clover instead of grass made Paul smirk. Only he would put together such a distinctive collection of plants and call it a garden. Tall trees graced every corner of the yard, their sprawling canopies creating shade and a moist microenvironment allowing the formation of fungus on the trunks and between roots. Lt. Stamets could name every variety with a glance, all species from Earth, thriving in their created environments. A smile lit Paul’s face as he realised this might be his house, a home he’d never even considered or wanted until this very moment. A home for himself and Hugh, in retirement, after the war ended and they got Lorca out of their lives. The grin became luminescent as the though took hold. Anxious to see if the old-fashioned key in his hand opened the door, Stamets stepped onto the porch.

Key easily turning in the lock, Paul let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Closing his eyes and counting to three, no voice called out in greeting. He’d been expecting yet another reiteration of Hugh, meeting him at the door with a warm hug and peck on the cheek. Letting out a disappointed huff, Stamets stepped foot into the house.

The wooden floor boards shone in the light cascading through the open door, showing dents and dimples from years of use. The windows he could see in the living room to his left and hall had their curtains drawn but the gauzy filtering layer remained firmly closed, stopping UV rays and allowing in a softened, faded light to hit the walls. The décor dark, it didn’t suit Stamets tastes.

Shaking his head, Paul entered, allowing the heavy door to slam closed behind him. A shiver of apprehension coursed down his spine while his mind screamed confinement at the drank surroundings. Something didn’t seem right about his poorly lit, depressing house, especially after walking through such a delightful garden. The dichotomy struck the Astromycologist with a physical blow. He knew this version of himself would be very different.

Moving through the hall, Paul realised every picture captured this Paul’s history on paper. Just like the house, it revelled in remaining true to its construction period. Not a sing of modernisation anywhere, from the old-fashioned barrel lock on the door, to the natural material, unaltered by technology. A collage of photographs, lovingly framed hung on the wall, creating a montage three metres long and half that high. Stepping up, Stamets began examining them, waiting for this Paul’s history to drop into his head. Most of the images focused on a child. No other children appeared in the pictures. Occasionally a woman stood beside the child. He knew her face. His mother, Pauline Stamets.

“Obviously,” the scientist spoke aloud to dispel the gloom, “no brothers or sister in this reality. My mother would never have taken a holoimage without at least two of us in it. Strange,” brain finally kicking in, Paul’s mind finally made the link, “no dad either. Did something happen to him? What about my twin brother, John? I haven’t seen any of my family since Discovery launched. I wonder what event occurred in this universe. Creepy.”

Once again, a shiver ran the length of Paul’s spine. Moving back toward the lounge, he noticed a similar trend. Old photos of himself, growing into an awaked teen on every wall. Walls, furniture and rugs all in dark colours adding a sinister ambiance of the house. The same repeated in the kitchen, eating area and master bedroom, making up all the rooms on the lower floor, Stamets found himself back at the staircase. Every third riser, yet another picture of himself graced the wall, tracking his growth into an adult. Artistically, they were well shot and framed, yet the sheer number of images bespoke of a mother’s overzealous pride and interest in little else but her only son. Not one photo contained another human being or animal.

“I wonder what happened,” Paul sighed, reaching the upper hall way and greeted with a completely different vista, “to make a woman so dedicated to her child? Up here is more to my taste. Light and bright decor, clean lines and greenery.”

Plants took pride of place on every window sill or in pots where a corner met. Well-tended, Paul knew this to be his own work. Several portable stasis fields surrounded interesting and rare fungal specimens. Only two doors on one side of the hall and a third on the opposite wall, Stamets found two additional bedrooms and a hygiene facility. The first and smaller room, obviously his sleeping area, in pristine condition. The second, a converted into an office and laboratory. A view of the back yard appeared out the working spaces window, showing a greenhouse taking up most of the rear and attached through a vine covered arbour.

Shaking his head, Paul began to look through the notation on the terminal. Although of good quality, it didn’t match the sophistication of the equipment on Discovery. In fact, it didn’t seem this Paul Stamets ideas and theories had been recognised by the scientific community. Wondering about the difference, the memories finally dropped into his head.

“Hey, stifle it or sit somewhere else,” the bitting words didn’t have the same effect on Hugh Culber in this reality.

After missing his shuttle to Earth, Paul found the Lake Café to wait out the three hours before the next transport home. Hearing the humming annoyed the individual used to his own company. In fact, the conference had been a bust completely. Not one of Starfleet types had been interested in his ideas, partly because Stamets school had been done in the privacy of his own home and he’d never obtained a doctorate in his chosen field. They’d been his last hope as the scientific community though Paul Stamets a uneducated crack pot at best and completely off the planet in terms of his mental health at worst.

Instead of the long, appreciative look Real Hugh had turned on Stamets in the same situation, this Hugh found Paul’s body language anything but attractive. Standing, he moved toward the scientist, offering, “you’re very rude. I suggest, if you don’t like people, then stay out of a public place.”

With that, the love of his life had walked away without a backward glance.

Sighing, Real Paul forced more memories while inspecting the work and finding it accurate and up to his usual standard, even with a substandard education. _Which means_ , his mind supplied, _this man is an intelligent as me, but his social skills are lacking_. Snorting, even Real Paul found that hard to believe. Sure, Hugh softened his demeanour over the years, but he’d never been this level of isolationist.

Snippets of memories came easily. His mother, always his mother at his side. Afraid to let him out of her sight. Not until this Paul turned six, did he realise why. His father and twin passed away before he’d turned one in an accident his mother blamed herself for. The Stamets family attributed to Pauline’s guilt, accusing her for getting pregnant and forcing their son to marry and start a family. They’d never really liked her, at least in his mother’s mind. That truth, at least, seemed to correspond with his own. The family never had much to do with the older generation of Stamets who were traditionalist, but had been very close with his maternal grandparents.

Real Paul sighed. His own childhood hadn’t been great, a gifted individual in a family of four siblings, universal care offering him a place at university by age fourteen. As a minor he’d need his parents’ permission to move across the continent. They hadn’t wanted him so far way and he’d had to divorce them to continue studying. It caused a rift between them, until Hugh entered his life. Hugh, with his love of family, his Aboulita and mother as strong female role models made him see the situation from a different point of view.

Shaking his head, Stamets realised how isolationist he might have become, how his life might have change without his Dear Doctor and welcoming family, even if they annoyed him most of the time. Sure, Hugh had been a big part of the changes, but his childhood set him up for independence, encouraged his love of learning, developed his reasoning and made Dr. Paul Edward Stamets the person he’d become. Head of Astromycology as a science, the USS Discovery as a means to use that science and travelling multiverses through interstellar hyphae. While his version of himself would never amount to anything and die a lonely old man, never having made a real human contact or significant advancement in the field of science.

“This,” Paul realised the reason for landing in this universe, “might have been my life.” Snorting, as the pain hit, this last though caused him both great sorrow and amusement, _and still a virgin, to afraid to let anyone in, to share his heart, or mind, or work. I think Stella’s trying to tell me to open up._


End file.
